His Smile
by Suta La Wolf
Summary: What's going through Daxter's mind as he watches Jak die...


Aloha guys, Suta here! I wrote this really late at night in my bed and typed it up in the morning…there was this really sad song on the radio and I was like "oh my gosh, I HAVE to listen to that song RIGHT NOW"…and so I went and hunted it up on my computer and listened to it over and over and over and over and…well yeah, then I was like "oh MAN….I have to write some Jak-torture" and my little angsty, kill-murder-torture-tear-things-apart-in-little-slow-paingful-steps muse chewed on my leg until this came out:

(enjoy!...and review, gosh dangit!)

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I can't stand it. I simply can't stand it.

I'm so helpless, he's in agonizing pain…he's dying, right in front of my very eyes.

Dying…heh, funny word.

He's merely fifteen feet out of my reach, being dangled in front of my nose tauntingly.

Like I can reached out my ottsel paw and touch him.

But here I am, hopelessly stuck on the other side of this barrier…it's invisible of course, just so I could come sprinting on all fours around the corner, yelling for Jak to wait up, and crash right into it.

"Jak!" I'll save ya, don't give in man…I'm coming, I swear.

I can already see the light begin to fade from his eyes. Geez, his eyes are gorgeous, if I may say so myself, being his best friend AND straight, thank ya very much.

But they always seem to have a new shade of blue in them. One second they'd be the most clear, crystalline light blue ever, and then they'd storm over into the darkest, murkiest navy blue.

Like turning a light on and off.

And…I would never forgive myself if I saw those baby blues close forever.

"Jak!" My lungs protested at my desperate yell…no! Another metalhead added itself to the pile of vulgar creatures that, given a few seconds ago, had been my best friend. I rubbed my hands together frantically, feverishly.

Now you all know that I'm not someone who's going to just spill my guts and emotions out all over the floor for every one to see, but…I'm desperate, worried, angry, regretful, but most of all, I'm afraid.

Afraid…afraid because he's part of me…and I can't lose him 'cos then I'm losing myself.

He had always been a part of me.

Right from, "Hiya, I'm Daxter, what's yer name?" and him staring at me scruffily, to him goin' all dark and nearly slicing up my ottsel hide all neat and tidy-like when I found him strapped to that, that _machine_…we had been connected.

Even before I'd depended on him for transportation, he and I never went anywhere with out each other.

On the dark, stormy nights when I'd sit curled up in a corner, shaking like a leaf; he'd known where I was. He'd known that I was scared and needed him. I had heard his heavy footsteps…heh, he'd always been so heavy and muscly compared to me…outside the hut and I heard the window slide open.

The storm crashed around outside before he'd closed the glass window and turned to find me cowering behind my bed.

Each great flash of lightning and deafening clap of thunder urged my heart into a faster rate. My sheets had almost ripped in two from my clumsy hands twisting them into a knotted mess.

Now, to any other guy, I don't think that their hero, their savior, was a green-haired six year old with footed pjs…but mine was.

Heh…stupid, I know, but he was.

He had marched over to me and crouched by my quivering feet. I looked up at him and saw those eyes. They said to me, "It's okay Dax, I'm here, nothin's gonna hurt ya, I promise."

They whispered, "Daxter stop shaking, you're going to be all right, ya hear?"

They told me confidently, "Hey, ya hear that? There was a six second gap between the lightning and thunder that time. Remember last time there was only a three second gap? The storm's goin' away. Remember Dax…remember?"

I'd always been a bit spazzy, and the other kids only saw that as a call for a beating. I'd usually only make it worse with my babbling nature…but Jak had never laid a finger on me, he'd known that I couldn't help it…he'd known that I couldn't…

And when I'd calmed down enough to stop trembling and stand, he had coaxed me from my corner. Then he took my hand and led me, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, to my bed.

He had covered me as best he could in a smallish, six year old, fatherly manner with my blankets before crawling in next to me.

I remember looking into his eyes and seeing "You're my bestest friend in the WHOLE, wide world and I love ya" and I remember him holding my hand until I fell asleep.

Yes, Jak had always been there for me, he'd always been there…always.

Even when I stumbled or did something stupid, he didn't care.

And he taught me the best lesson ever: Friendship is the best love out there, and to love means never having to say you're sorry.

But now, I'm watching him writhe and yell in pain as a half dozen metalheads took their turns holding him down, the concrete rubbing his jaw raw, and slashing and biting at him. His boots are scraping at the ground in a futile attempt to push himself upwards. His gloved hands are grappling around on the concrete, trying desperately to reach the gun that I can see is ten feet out of his reach.

I had, as you should know, been a little, ah…let's say high-strung. But with Jak around, I could relax 'cos I knew he'd never let anything happen to me if it was within his power to prevent it. And he knew I'd do the same…it's just that, well, with the fur and the size, I don't have all that much power…

Well, at least, I think he knew…didn't he? Yeah…yeah, he knew…he must've known…

But now…now I _can't_ help him…he's friggin twenty feet in front of me, plain as day…and the one time he really needs me, I can't help him.

Every time a metalhead nips at his arm, I'll swear up and down, green and blue, that I can feel a pinching sensation in my own little orange arm. Like I said, we're connected.

Every time one of the monsters grabs up one of his calves and crunches down, the nerves in my leg send my brain the horrible impression that I've just been stepped on.

I bite my lip furiously and tears begin to rake at my eyes as I watch him be tortured. It's infuriatingly frustrating to watch helplessly as Jak…_my_ Jak, my big guy, my blonde boy, my…_everything_, be torn apart.

Before I know what I'm doing, my tiny little ottsel fists are banging against the transparent barrier.

Effective, I know…

I yell and yell and yell. I yell nonsense, I swear and call out his name…anything, anything at all to distract the metalheads, or to bring him back to his senses and somehow magically give him the strength he needs to get out of there and come back to me.

Why? Why do I yell?

I yell because this isn't supposed to be happening, this isn't how it should be; I yell because I'm an idiot for getting into a fight with him before he had left; I yell because I'm stupid for letting him go storming and raving out the door without apologizing to him; I yell because he was an idiot for being careless; I yell because of my puny size, and I yell because now that the one person I care the most about in the world needs my help…I can't give it.

I bang on the barrier harder. It isn't fair damnit! It isn't fair that Jak's going to die without my ever saying to him, at least once… "Thank you, Jak for all you've done."

It wouldn't even have to be that formal, just a "Thanks Jak" after he'd stayed up all night to watch over my feverishly sick hide.

I had never told him, never in all our years of being best friends, had I ever told him "thank you", let alone that I loved him and wouldn't hesitate to do the exact same thing for him.

Never, not even once.

But he knows that I love him, he knows that I'd always meant to say "thanks", he definitely knows…right?

...doesn't he?

….

Oh Mar…what if he doesn't know? What if he thinks that I always forget about him? What if he never knew how much I cared for him just because I hadn't taken the time to say a few measly words?

Oh no…no, _no_…NO!

"Jaaaaaak! Jak don't d-…don't di-…don't…" my voice cracks with hysteria.

I can't say it, 'cos if I do it might come true, and that just _can't_ happen. But…he doesn't know…I don't know if it's just me coming to a peak in my adrenaline rush or what, but I'm totally convinced at that point that he had never known.

My knuckles are open and bleeding freely, the blood spatters across the cement and onto my fur with each useless bang on the barrier.

Furious now, with my pathetic self, with everything, I back up and run at the barrier, and I throw myself against the invisible wall. I feel and hear my shoulder crack, but I simply don't care anymore. All I care about, all that matters is the almost motionless figure not fifteen feet in front of me. I back up again and sprint at the barrier. Again and again and again.

I'm too small; I'm too helpless and puny. I can't help him…I, I can't…

I put my gloved paw up against the barrier as, through bleary eyes, I watch the largest metalhead look at me. I swear on whatever is holy and true in this world that the thing grinned at me. It's a large, toothy grin, full of menace and deadly intent.

I watch the beast pivot on an enormous, clawed paw and go to the semiconscious, bleeding lump of flesh that is my best friend, and places its jaws around his neck carefully. The other metalheads back off and looked on like this is some sort of sick ceremony.

I slip to my knees as it looks at me again and smirks, almost as if it knows exactly what it is about to take away. My best friend, my life, my buddy, my pal, blue-eyed wonder, my all.

It's going to take it away…all of it away, every bit of it.

Before the metalhead could begin to clamp its jaws down any tighter, Jak forces his head to the side so he can look at me. He stares at me blankly, his ocean-blue eyes unfocused. His lips twist themselves into a small smile as his eyes…oh jeez his eyes…focus on me slowly.

And, though it's small and reeking of blood, it's a genuine smile. Not one of those halfhearted things he'd used to humor me with when I told one o' my famous tall tales. Not one of those cheap grins that I'd managed, if ever, to wriggle out of him ever since he escaped that prison. No sirree, this is the real thing.

This is the smile that beams like the golden sun that used to set in Sandover. And his eyes are now telling me: I love ya Dax, and I know you love me, so forget about it, ok? Thanks for just being there for me…and don't forget to smile like I never did…goodbye my best friend, see you later."

And the metalhead closes his jaws, Jak's eyes close, his body twitches slightly…and he lies still. His smile is still fixed on his motionless features as the metalheads, done with their fun, stalk away.

I'm empty. Drained like an empty tub. Except not no bathtub…I'm, excuse the crappy metaphor, but I am most certainly an empty ocean. My mind…blank. My emotions…absent.

Until one thing finally registers with my brain…and guess what it is? It isn't anger at my friend for leaving, nor is it the fact that he is, in fact, gone forever.

It's his last words to me, though never spoken aloud, they're still words…and the smile that told all.

His smile that had flared the light behind his eyes for but a second as he told me all I needed to know in the eye-to-Daxter language we had goin' on for the majority of our lives.

Now that he's gone there's gonna be many things I'm not ever going to be sure of again, but if it's one thing I'm certain of, it's that his beaming goodbye smile is his best one yet.

And with my friend's mangled, bloody…but grinning…picture in my mind, I keel over onto the harsh concrete and pass out.

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Okay…so what'd ya thinketh?

Reviewreviewreviewreview…or I may just 'splode and I know you guys wouldn't want that happening 'cos you just love me soooo much. -GRIN-

So revieweth…pleaseth?


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